


Summary Judgment

by happybeans



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: (you know I couldn't resist), A littttle bit of College AU, Karen is a good friend, M/M, Wholesome Fun, proposal fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:48:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28494876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happybeans/pseuds/happybeans
Summary: Struggling to come up with a proposal speech for Foggy, Matt asks for Karen's help. Stories are shared along the way.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Karen Page, Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44
Collections: DDE’s 2021 New Year’s Day Exchange





	Summary Judgment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [politik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/politik/gifts).



> Hiya! This story is for AO3 user Politik for the 2021 New Year's Day Daredevil Exchange! The prompt was "The moon lives in the lining of your skin,” by Pablo Neruda. I hope you enjoy :D

IN THE CIVIL COURT OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK

NEW YORK COUNTY, NEW YORK

“And, for the aforementioned reasons so set forth, I thus clarify my intent—god, what am I saying? Ugh, blasphemy.”

He slaps two fingers against the underside of his wrist, and it taps like a ruler, short-lived clap zapping across the room and ticking off the walls. He sighs to himself. This is never going to work.

The most important argument of his life, and he can’t even think up a poetic way to say it. All that time writing legal documents has failed him. Suddenly, he’s regretting going for STEM back in undergrad; maybe he should have been an English major instead.

His right hand moves back to the keyboard, lines itself up on the J-key, then smashes the backspace key with his pinkie. The whole document is trash, all of it, so he could very well highlight and delete it all.

Instead, he holds the key and listens, blank-faced, as JAWS rapid-fire reads the document backwards to him, letter-by-letter, until it finally hits “blank.”

Then, he drops his chin into his hand, teeth chomping together with a click, and he huffs an annoyed breath. The absolute worst: that’s what this is.

But it’s fine.

He’ll just never get married.

Problem solved.

Yeah, problem solved until Foggy and Karen come laughing up the stairs, and their cheer fills the office like the boom of a confetti cannon the instant after they’ve opened the door. And even in spite of everything, Matt can’t help but smile.

_Now comes the Plaintiff, by and through his own and undersigned counsel, and respectfully asks this Honorable Court for an Order granting Summary Judgment in his favor. Summary Judgment is appropriate in the case that reasonable minds can come to but one conclusion on a matter._

Foggy knocks at the door to Matt’s office, and Matt straightens up, using one hand to switch the tab back to his research from earlier. You know. His actual work.

“Oh, prince,” Foggy calls as he opens the door: “your humble servants have arrived—and look, they’ve brought wares!”

“I love a good ware,” Matt says thoughtfully, his face the opposite of straight, much like himself. “What have you brought before mine eyes?”

Foggy steps forward into the office, and the bag holding Matt’s sloshy takeout crinkles loudly. “I hoped you’d ask. Today it’s… Well, it’s a potion, my fair prince.”

“A potion?” Matt asks, and he should probably end the roleplay here and get back to not working, but he continues, “What kind of potion?”

“Well, it’s obviously not a love potion,” Karen calls from across the office, and Foggy turns around to say:

“Hey!”

While Matt hums and says, “That would be rather redundant, wouldn’t it?”

Breathing a laugh, Foggy turns back to Matt and says, “Mayhaps.” He plunks the pho on Matt’s desk, in front of his laptop, and the door slams shut at the same time; he’s kicked it closed, it seems, based on his distance from it.

Matt tilts his head in curiosity and closes his laptop.

“So,” Foggy says, and it’s clear the roleplay is over based on his regular Foggy tone of voice, “I was wondering.”

Matt raises his eyebrows as a go-ahead.

“Ooh, I’m so nervous,” Foggy says, voice falsely high, and his hand waves in front of his face. A new act begun, he continues, “Would you like to—I don’t know… Go on a date? With me?”

“Is this by chance related to New Year’s?” Matt asks: New Years Day marks their three-year anniversary.

“Maaaaaaybe,” Foggy sings, and it causes Matt to laugh at his antics.

Still, he hums, pretending to think about it. “Well, I’m a bit booked on such short notice… But I think I can fit you in.”

“Oh?”

Matt realizes the inuendo a beat later, and he scoffs a laugh, pawing a hand in front of himself to wave Foggy off. It makes Foggy laugh, that same daisies and windchimes sound, and Matt shakes his head.

“Perfect,” Foggy says, and he starts to back away, wooden floorboards squeaking as he steps. “I’ll pick you up at five. Wear something cute.”

“Are you saying I’m not already cute?” Matt retorts, and he’s back to leaning with his elbow on the desk and his chin in his hand while he blinks quickly at Foggy.

With a laugh, Foggy says simply, “November second,” before he opens the door to the office and walks out, still chuckling to himself at the memory.

Matt’s lips push together, and his eyebrows raise. He should have known Foggy would mention the infamous November second.

Eager to forget the cringe, Matt pulls himself back upright and leans across the desk to snag his lunch, his full sensory experience still focused on Foggy, who makes his way past Karen’s desk silently—perhaps with a gesture; that seems like something he’d do over a randomly quiet walk-by—then starts humming gently as he steps into his own office and shuts the door.

Sighing, Matt starts unwrapping his takeout.

_It is clear from the evidence more thoroughly defined below that Plaintiff is legally entitled to Summary Judgment. Plaintiff prays the Court may rule in his favor._

_Respectfully Submitted,_

_ /s/Matthew Murdock _

_Matthew Murdock, Attorney at Law_

ONE: STATEMENT OF FACTS

One arm “casually” bent to have his wrist pressed against his right ear, Matt could hardly hear his own thoughts as he whined to himself about how loud it was. It was New Year’s Eve, three years prior, and he’d somehow been convinced by Foggy and Karen to take the night off on one of his busiest nights of the year. He was already considering backing out before he entered the bull-fight of a bar.

As it was, it took everything in him to carry on: one step forward, then another, then another, cane whacking a new foot with each swing as he made his way through the wobbling waves of sounds towards the staccato chanting of Foggy and Karen at the other end of the bar. They’d already saved a set of seats over in their corner, and, judging by the way they were repeating his name, they had likely already ordered a round or two.

Matt smiled as he made it to the table, reluctantly pulling his arm back down to his side and allowing the sea of sounds around him back into that ear.

“Now, that’s a happy face!” Foggy said, and his voice came closer until he had an arm on Matt’s right arm. Voice gentler, he asked, “You good?”

Matt let out a slow breath. He brought his attention inward, letting the tens of voices surrounding him fade into the background and existing only in their little bubble.

“Just fine,” he said, and Foggy squeezed his arm before letting go.

“Happy to hear it. Hold out your hand?”

“Uh-oh,” Matt said, but he did so anyway.

Seconds later, a cold shot glass was slid into his palm, and he pulled it up to sniff.

“Tequila!” Karen cheered. “Your favorite.”

“Lucky me.” He downed it like a champ, making certain to keep his face entirely neutral, lest Karen and Foggy use his moment of weakness against him.

His best friends cheered, and Matt was grinning with them.

It was good to take a break for a change, regardless of how the chaos surrounding him was messing with his already tenuous grasp of the world. They ordered a couple more rounds as they played a game of darts, and, for a moment, it seemed as though he had everything he could want.

“That bartender’s kinda handsome,” Foggy remarked, and Matt felt his heart bounce harder in his chest.

“I hadn’t noticed,” he said, a classic joke which caused a chuckle to sound out from both Foggy and Karen. “Are you going to shoot your shot?”

“I was more so wondering if you are,” Foggy replied, and Karen “ooh”ed.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Matt said, and he thought that his smile must have looked very casual and non-suspicious.

He could barely hold in his sigh. Even after all these years, he still wasn’t able to get over Foggy.

They were a solid few drinks deeper when Matt sat up with a swear.

“Uh-oh,” Karen said while Foggy said, “What?”

“I fucked up. Please tell me New Year’s Eve somehow doesn’t fall on the thirty-first this year.”

Obviously, he knew that wasn’t possible.

Foggy sighed, seemingly understanding the situation. “What did you forget to file?”

“More like what did I forget to write,” Matt retorted, and Foggy and Karen both groaned.

“Well, this is exactly how I want to start out the new year,” Foggy says: “with a malpractice suit.”

Sighing, Matt started to push away from the table, standing from his seat and snagging his cane from where it rested beside him. “Don’t worry, guys, I’ll take care of it.”

“Literally how?” Foggy asked. “It’s…nine forty-two.”

“Plenty of time!” Karen said optimistically. “Especially if all of us work on—what are we working on again?”

Matt winced. “It’s the…” He sighed. “It’s the McGarry Interrogatories.”

An awkward noise of pain sounded from Karen’s direction. Meanwhile, Foggy just groaned.

“I don’t suppose we can slip in a quick motion to give us some more time?”

Grimace still ground into his face, Matt said, “About that…” prompting another groan from the peanut gallery.

He twisted his cane in his hand then said, “Anyway, I have some notes, so I really think I might be able to finish this. Just… Happy New Year, guys.”

He turned and started to walk back towards the exit but slowed when he heard Foggy following.

“Listen,” Foggy said, “I’m gonna help you.”

Immediately, Matt shook his head. “No way. This is my mess.”

“And you’re mine,” Foggy said.

Ignoring the idea of being Foggy’s anything, Matt said, “Really—”

But Foggy interrupted, “I’m coming with one way or another. Meet at your place?”

With no time to spare arguing, Matt just nodded once, and Foggy turned to go meet back up with Karen.

Forgetting not just to submit the document but also to write it in the first place was an honest accident…but was it so bad that he was somewhat relieved to find himself exiting the bar and entering the cool near-January air of the outside world? It was only once he was free from all the bartime excitement that he was able to really, fully take stock of himself and recognize his growing migraine for what it was.

Still, the self-loathing part of his brain couldn’t help but to kick into overdrive. It was just like him to ruin what was meant to be a fun night out, regardless of his lack of intent. A crime of negligence is still a crime nonetheless.

As he made the walk back to his apartment, he considered that perhaps this was the most gravitational reason why he and Foggy could never become something; his mens rea connived against him, shined a golden light against his mangled sins.

And everybody could see Matt for who he truly was.

Maybe the primary reason why he and Foggy could never be together the way he’d dreamed was that Matt…well. Maybe it was because Matt just sucked.

Of course, the logical part of his brain knew he should cut off this line of thinking—there was no use going to dark places, especially when there was work to be done—but he couldn’t help but to take the dive down the rabbit hole of self-hate.

As he reached his apartment, he scrubbed his free hand over his cheek, adjusting his glasses after. There wasn’t time for this. And besides, it’s not like there was any point in dwelling on wishes that would never come true.

He made it to his apartment and booted up his laptop, starting on the document shortly after. Like he said before, he did already have some notes taken on what he was going to ask the opposition, so he wasn’t completely fucked on this one.

Still, it was somewhat a relief when Foggy and Karen showed up not long later with their own computers, ready to get started with him.

In all, writing the document and submitting it with the court took them right down to the wire. It was Karen’s speedy typing and familiarity with the e-filing system that really saved the day.

She ended up leaving to pick up celebration snacks while Matt groaned, leaning back against his chair, and Foggy rooted through Matt’s cabinet for liquor.

“Well, shit,” Foggy said as he twisted off the cap of the old rum he found at the back of the cabinet. “Happy New Year.”

Matt snorted. Another holiday that he ruined. At least this time it wasn’t due to injury. He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand and his elbow against the table.

“Someone’s mopey,” Foggy remarked, and he walked across the kitchen to set the rum down on the counter and reach into the cabinet which held the glasses.

Matt counted three glass clinks as Foggy pulled them out of the cabinet and set them onto the counter. “Who?” he asked, honestly too tired emotionally and physically to banter further than that.

“You realize that we finished on time,” Foggy said. “We get to celebrate now.”

Matt hummed. “I’m happy about that,” he said honestly.

“And yet,” Foggy pulled open the freezer to scoop ice into the glasses: “here you are pouting during the first moments of the new year.”

Breathing a faked laugh, Matt said, “I’m not pouting.”

“Just so you know, I rolled my eyes.”

Matt rolled his own back, to make it fair.

A period of speechless silence followed, only interrupted by the sound of run pouring into glasses. Then, Foggy picked up two of the glasses—Matt could count it by the number of scrapes that preceded him turning to walk over—and handed one to Matt, who thanked him with an attempt at a smile.

“Clink with me?” Foggy requested, and Matt held his glass up so Foggy could tap his against it.

They each took a sip of their rum, which was not even close to a good substitute for champagne.

Foggy’s heartrate ticked up a moment before he began to speak: “You know,” he said, “I’ve been thinking, lately. About change.”

Matt hummed.

Foggy continued, “And I think it’s especially apparent since it’s the start of a new year. A fresh start, right?”

After he sipped his drink, Matt set his glass down, squinting. “Right,” he said, mostly because he had no idea what Foggy was getting at for a moment.

“Right.” Foggy swallowed. “You know, the more that things change between us, the more that things stay the same. That’s what I’ve noticed, anyway.”

Matt stayed quiet, waiting for Foggy to drop the hammer.

After a second, Foggy said, “And from that change, I’ve realized some things. Things that maybe I do want to change between us.”

With a gentle sigh, Matt nodded. He knew where this was going, and though he was surprised this was coming up again after all this time of what seemed like peace, he was nonetheless ready for it.

“I think I know what you’re getting at,” he told Foggy. “The thing is: I just… I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Oh?”

Foggy’s heart rate ticked up yet again.

Still, Matt forced himself to nod, adjusting his glasses with one hand. “I know this… It must be disappointing for you. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Foggy said. “I get it.”

_But did he?_ Matt couldn’t help but wonder.

But instead of pushing the topic further—in retrospect, he really should have—he took a sip of his drink.

And the two fell into a pit of silence.

Luckily, Karen came to save them not long later, bringing corner-store snacks and wine.

“Okay!” she said as she walked through the door. “Good job, team!”

Foggy met her in the living room, taking half of the bags to help her carry everything into the kitchen.

“I can’t believe we did that, but now we can—hmm.” There was a beat of quiet. Then Karen said, “Okay, what did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Foggy said while Matt just shrugged.

“I mean, it’s clearly something,” Karen said, dropping her bags onto the table in front of Matt then leaning over to touch his shoulder. “Matt looks like Medusa turned him to stone.”

“Is that possible?” Matt pondered aloud.

“Good question,” Foggy said, and it was clear that he had found a topic change and was going to run with it. “Let me look that up.”

Karen was back to humming at them, and Matt took the time to awkwardly sip the rest of his drink.

“Is the band breaking up again?” Karen asked.

“Definitely not,” and “Of course not,” Matt and Foggy answered at the same time.

“Okay, then what gives? Seriously, is this going to be, like, a thing or…?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Foggy said, and Matt thought he was making gestures with his hands based on the wind patterns. “Just. A personal thing.”

“Oh. Ohhhhh. Uh-oh.”

“What uh-oh?” Foggy asked while Matt tilted his head at her.

Karen’s heartbeat pounded a little louder, a testament to her discomfort as she said, “I think… If this is about what I think it is—"

Foggy was still tapping his phone, and it didn’t slip past Matt that he stopped tapping an instant before Karen’s phone vibrated in her pocket.

She stopped talking for a moment as she shifted around, presumably checking her notification. Then she sighed.

“Matt,” she said, “can we talk for a sec?”

“Karen—” Foggy objected, but Matt stood and tilted his head towards his bedroom. “Guys. You’re not talking about me when I’m right here.”

Matt could feel Foggy’s temperature raising; he could hear his tone rising. Loath to get even further on Foggy’s bad side, Matt nodded. “Sorry. You’re right,” he said, hand resting on the back of his chair. “Everything’s fine.”

Sighing a breath which wheezed with frustrated emotions at its tail, Karen said, “Look, what I’m trying to say is that there has to have been a big misunderstanding. Like—okay. Am I leaving again so you two can hash it out? Or am I going to have to walk you through it?”

“You don’t have to leave,” Foggy said while Matt said: “It’s cold out; you’re not going out again.”

“Okay. Then… Here: I’m going to get snacks ready—” She walked over towards Foggy, and Matt thinks she started pushing him towards the table since their steps synced up coming closer— “while you guys get on the same page. Sounds good? Good.”

Matt and Foggy reclaimed their earlier seats while Karen started pulling things out of the bags Foggy set on the counter beside her drink.

“Well, this is awkward as hell,” Foggy remarked, and Matt chuckled a laugh.

“Agreed.”

They sat in quiet for a couple of seconds—relative quiet, that is: Karen was still crinkling plastic bags and humming to herself.

Then Foggy said, “Can I just ask one thing?”

Matt nodded despite his reluctance to answer the questions that he knew were coming. Regardless of how he felt they were moving in circles with this same conversation, he wanted to get Foggy on—well, on the same page, like Karen said. If hashing it out yet again was what he needed, then Matt was willing to repeat himself.

Foggy continued, “What do you mean when you say it isn’t possible? Why is it such a quick ‘no?’ Do you just—”

“It’s—sorry, go on.”

“No, you can go ahead.”

Matt paused, continuing after a moment. “I know it’s not easy for you. I just… I can’t change who I am, Foggy.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Matt says after a moment, quickly, “But you are.” Then, a little slower, rubbing a hand through his hair, he continued, “I’m sorry. But I feel like that’s what you’re doing.”

After a long and extended, “Um,” Foggy said, humor in his voice, “you really don’t understand how relationships work.”

The humming from across the kitchen got louder.

“Sorry the orphan isn’t the best with relationship skills,” Matt snarked back, though he tried to smile with it, not wanting to escalate this into an actual argument.

Still, Foggy took him seriously. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Nodding, Matt said, “I know you didn’t; it’s fine.”

Another silence followed.

_Don’t need money, don’t take fame._

Karen’s humming was growing somewhat distracting.

_Don’t need no credit card to ride this train._

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Matt said to Foggy. “I know that you—you’re trying to show that you care. But I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can. Is that… Is that why? You want to…prove something to yourself?”

“It’s not about me. It’s about the city.”

_That’s the power of love._

Foggy laughed. “Literally, what are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m starting to think Karen may have had a point.”

Karen hummed an affirmative across the room, though she didn’t say anything.

Squinting, Matt said, “I’m lost. We’re talking about you wanting me to quit being Daredevil.”

“…False.”

“What?”

With a long, pressured sigh that almost seemed to have a tinge of humor at the end of it, Foggy said, “Literally, why would I bring that up again? I’ve made peace with it, Matt. I’m talking about us.”

“What about us?”

“Oh my goddddd, why? Karen, start humming again.”

_The Power of Love_ started up again at full-force.

“Matt. I’m not talking about your ‘night job.’ I’m talking about dating you.”

Matt’s chair scraped out as he stood. “What?!”

And the rest was history.

TWO: LAW AND ARGUMENT

“Knock, knock, knock,” Karen says at his door, rapping her knuckles against the wood of it with light taps.

“Come in,” Matt says, and he leans sideways to snag his glasses from the other end of the desk.

He slips them on as the door creaks open and Karen steps into his office, closing the door behind her.

“I got that email you sent,” she starts, voice projecting. Once the door has shut entirely, her voice drops down to a lower volume. She was putting on a show for Foggy, telling Matt what this is about before she says, “Hey, are we still on for tonight?”

“If you’re not too busy,” Matt says. “I know it’s last minute.”

“Pssh.” A gust of wind waves over to Matt, probably from Karen having waved her hand. “Don’t flatter me.” The floorboards creak in the direction of the door. “Well, okay. I’ll get right into…the _first maneuver.”_

Chuckling a laugh at the joking melodrama, Matt salutes her and says, “Good luck, agent.”

They’ve had today planned for a little over a week, though the proposal’s been in the works for much longer. Karen’s the one who brought up the idea that it’d probably be much easier to make this happen without arousing suspicion if she could get Foggy to leave early for the day, giving Matt and Karen enough time to make it to the jeweler’s and hopefully pick out a ring before they close.

Matt starts closing off his research for the day while Karen works her magic across the firm. It isn’t long before Foggy’s packing up his things and stopping by Matt’s office to say goodbye.

“You’re going to make a great lawyer,” Matt tells Karen once it’s just them packing up their things.

“If I can ever surpass the one-fifties,” Karen says, referencing her most recent LSAT practice scores.

“You’ll get there.”

“Hmm. So, how’s the speech coming?”

Matt bites his cheek to keep from outright laughing at the question. “Fantastic,” he says, in a tone of voice to imply that it’s quite the opposite, actually.

“Oof. That bad?”

Nodding, Matt collects the rest of his things then moves to lean against the doorframe of his office. “That bad,” he confirms.

Keys jingling as she tosses them into her bag, Karen starts walking towards the door, and Matt pushes from the doorframe to follow her.

“You have to be exaggerating. You’re a great writer.”

“I’m a great legal writer,” Matt corrects. “I don’t write poetry.”

“They’re not too different, are they?”

He grabs his cane from beside the door on his way out and waits for Karen to lock everything up behind them.

Karen continues, “I mean, I’ve read some fancy case decisions.”

Matt considers this. “What I’m hearing is that I need to channel my inner Robert Jackson.”

Although she laughs, Karen says, “Yes, actually. That’s what I’m thinking.”

They start walking out of the building, Matt turning this over in his head.

“Here, let’s try something else,” Karen says. “You love Foggy. Obviously. Well, what do you love about him?”

“Lots of things. He’s quite funny—”

“True.”

“—he’s sweet—”

“Mmhm.”

“—and I like that he’s not afraid to say what he’s thinking.”

Karen snorts. “Until you’re on the other end of that one.”

Yeah, that’s fair. Matt thinks they’re both remembering a rather embarrassing altercation that took place in the middle of the workday a couple weeks ago. He won’t get into it, just know that he’s still about eighty-percent sure he wasn’t actually in the wrong on that one.

“Even then,” he insists as they start walking down the hall and towards the stairs. “He’s very open. And he’s always been that way.”

He breathes a laugh as he remembers what Foggy said the first time they met. Another might call it _word vomit;_ Matt likes to think of it more as a sort of super-honesty. He’s transparent. It’s honorable, especially to a person like Matt, who’s more difficult to see through than a brick wall.

“Okay, I get it,” Karen says: “you like that he’s a bitch.”

It startles a laugh out of Matt, who says, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I know, I know. We all know I love him, too. I guess I’m just wondering how useful that one will be for, you know, the speech.”

Matt hums. “Good point. Maybe I’ll leave that part out.”

“Well, I’m not saying that…”

With a laugh, Matt says, “Which is it?”

Karen laughs, too, and she says, “Include it. It’ll give him a laugh, at least.”

Matt rolls his eyes. “Are you sure I should be taking risks during something like this?”

“Maybe.”

Matt shrugs. As they walk out onto the sidewalk and start on their way to the jeweler’s, he considers the matter further. It’s true that his sharp tongue is one of Foggy’s traits which Matt has always treasured the most. If he could just find a better way to word it…

“What else you got?”

Matt thinks about all the bar nights—both throughout law school and nowadays with Karen.

“He’s very fun. I like that he makes me do stuff.”

Karen snorts.

“Hey, it’s true,” Matt defends.

“I’m sure it is; it just sounds a little funny, when you put it like that.”

Matt rolls his eyes in good humor. “Go ahead and enlighten me on how I can twist that. I’ll wait.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

A memory floats past, bouncing in the breeze. It was the time he and Foggy joined Columbia’s archery club for a day. Matt thought it was stupid: the last thing he wanted when he really should have been studying was to go out and get stared at by other students while he tried and failed to shoot an arrow into a circular piece of wood or whatever it was.

Still, Foggy sounded so excited about it, and Matt knew the second it was put on the table that he wouldn’t be able to say no to him.

Like many things Foggy’s roped him into, they actually ended up having a blast. Once Matt figured out where the target was, it wasn’t too difficult to improve his aim. They weren’t exactly getting recruited for the team, but they were at least sticking to the board most of the time by the end of the day.

Matt shares the moment with Karen.

“That’s really sweet,” she says. “Maybe you could say that you like how he pushes you out of your comfort zone.”

Nodding slowly, Matt thinks that definitely sounds better.

“We’re here, by the way.”

Karen leads them into the jewelry store, and the reprieve from the cold is pleasant.

They’re greeted by the owner of the small store, a kind older woman who Matt helped out once in the mask.

Matt’s pretty out of his element in here, which is why Karen came along to lend a set of eyes. He already has some ideas of what he wants, but he wants to make sure it looks nice, too.

In all, it doesn’t take long for them to find a set of rings that have enough flair to them but still maintain some neutral professionalism. The important part to Matt is taken care of when the shop-owner takes the rings into the back to be inscribed—a personal touch that Matt knows will mean as much to Foggy as it does to himself.

Before long, Matt’s waving a goodbye to _Loranne_ while Karen holds the door, and they re-enter the ice box that is New York City in the winter.

“Well, that was successful,” Karen says, and she lets go of the door to start walking with Matt towards her apartment. She tosses the ring box in the air, catching it a second later.

“Yes, it was, and would you cut that out?” Matt starts making grabby hands for the box, which Karen passes over with a laugh.

The urge to continue feeling the inscriptions of the rings is strong, but he shoves the box deep into his coat pocket instead.

“Thank you again. I appreciate your help with this.”

Karen bumps her shoulder into his, saying, “It was fun. Now… What else can you say in this speech?”

Matt hums, trying not to let the topic get to him. What should be a fun exercise has become a total nightmare for him.

“He’s very intelligent,” he says after a second. “It’s quite attractive.”

“A-bleghhh.”

Matt laughs, knowing Karen is joking about finding it gross.

“That’s good, though,” Karen says. “Call him hot.”

Matt rolls his eyes. “We’re off to a great start here. He’s bitchy, hot, and smart.”

“That would flatter anybody,” Karen says, her tone of voice telling him that she’s kidding. Thankfully. “I mean, just…say it better maybe?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Good. What else you got?”

This time, Matt puts a little thought into it. Of course, it only really takes a second to come up with more to love about Foggy. “He’s very easy to love. He just… He loves so deeply, and he’s not afraid to show it.”

“Awww.”

“Yes, we’re very cute.” Matt considers for a moment before he decides: “Have I ever told you about the infamous November second?”

“Um, I think I would remember this, so, no.”

Matt nods. “Right.” Really, November second is insider knowledge. “Want to hear about it?”

Really, it shouldn’t have been so heartbreaking. Matt shouldn’t have cared this much. He knew that.

“You know I’ve been keeping count, right?” Foggy asked from across the room.

A period of silence followed until Matt asked, baffled, “What?”

“Twelve,” Foggy proclaimed. “That’s how many times you’ve gone—” He sighed dramatically, far more dramatically than Matt had been sighing— “since I’ve gotten back. Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Matt said, and he rolled over, facing the wall and pulling his blanket back over his head. “I’m fine.”

And he knew that he was. Fine. He’d get over it, just like he’d gotten over everything else. He knew this.

“Okay,” Foggy said. “Whatever you want. Just know that I’m here for you, okay?”

Matt nodded, and he wasn’t sure if Foggy saw it from under the blanket, but he wasn’t sure if he cared enough to make sure, either.

He wasn’t sure if he cared about anything anymore.

The day passed in this manner. Foggy couldn’t even drag him away to the party he’d been talking about for days. The next day passed similarly. When he woke up on the third day, things were even worse. It was November second, and everything was bad. He felt like a chipped plate. He felt like a dead bug in a swimming pool. He felt like a broken lava lamp with the goo flowing out.

He was coming up with an even grander comparison when Foggy came back to their room, and Matt hid under the blanket to pretend to be sleeping.

“You haven’t suffocated in there yet, have you?” Foggy asked as he shut the door behind him. He walked over and started poking Matt’s shoulder through the blanket.

It was on the third poke that Matt gave up the act and pulled down the blanket. “I’m alive.”

“Jesus. Are you?”

“I’m fine.”

Foggy made an “ehhh” noise but still backed off, walking over to set his bag down on his desk. “You just look. Well. You look a little like shit, buddy, not gonna lie.”

“I look amazing.”

“We’ll leave that judgment to the one with sight, okay? Have you showered?”

Matt rolled over, feeling like a sausage in a pancake. But not even a good pancake—one without syrup or something. And the sausage in this scenario was—whatever, nevermind.

“I take that as a no,” Foggy said. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

Matt sat up, sitting on the edge of his bed to face Foggy. “Will you stop mothering me?” he snapped. “I said I’m fine.”

“And I said I don’t believe you.”

Waving him off with one hand, Matt laid back down. “Believe whatever you want.”

“Okay, I will.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Matt pulled the blanket back up, trapping his various scents back inside, and sighed.

And sighed.

And sighed.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Foggy burst out, and suddenly he was crossing the room to Matt. “We’re not doing this again. Get up.”

“Foggy…”

“Up.”

Matt groaned. He heaved himself upward into a sitting position with reluctance.

“Okay, no offense, but when’s the last time you showered?” Foggy asked.

Making a face at him, Matt started to lay back down again, but Foggy caught him by the back and pushed him back up.

“Nevermind, forget I said anything. We can just shower now.”

“We?”

It caused Foggy to laugh, a mouse squeak of joy that made a small sense of pride bubble up in Matt’s chest. “I’m your bro, bro, I’ll shower with you if you want. No homo.”

“Sad, I wanted it to be homo,” Matt remarked, and he even pretended it was a joke.

More laughter bounced over from Foggy’s position beside the bed, and Matt forced himself to stand to hide his smile. The last time he was up was at some point in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. He pretended his legs weren’t practically gelatin at this point and stumbled over to where he kept his towel then, after snagging his glasses and cane, made his way to the shower.

Getting cleaned up was a quick affair. He tried to class it up a little by stealing a drop of Foggy’s fancy orange shampoo but even that could only do so much for his mood, which remained stagnant at its current “blah” level.

Ignoring the other guys hanging around in the hallway, Matt made his way back to his and Foggy’s dorm-room, rolling his eyes when Foggy cheered and brushing a comb through his hair quickly.

“Alright,” he said. “I did it. Are you happy now?”

“Very. Alright, let’s go.”

Matt paused. “Excuse me?”

“You need vitamin sunlight. Let’s go get some.”

“It’s vitamin D,” Matt informed him. “And fine, but we’re not staying out for long. I have work to get done.”

“Do you, though?”

Matt raised an eyebrow.

They argued for a little longer, though it was all in good fun. Matt already knew that he wasn’t going to be able to hide away in their room for much longer anyway, so he let Foggy lead them down the hall, past the guys who were still loitering, and down the stairs.

“Just you wait,” Foggy said as they left the building, letting the door slam shut behind them. “This is going to be the best day of your young life.”

It was not the best day of Matt’s young life. But it wasn’t terrible, either. In the beginning.

They headed off to a coffee shop Matt was particularly fond of, a small business run by a cheerful couple and which served only fair-trade coffee. Matt could feel his spirits rising in spite of the drama of the preceding days.

After, they planned to catch a movie, something to keep his mind off of his failures. All he needed to do was grab his school ID.

They finished their coffees on the walk back to their dorm building, and Foggy went to ditch them in a garbage can while Matt headed upstairs.

He stepped through the doorway and into the hall and paused for a moment when the ground crinkled: there was a tarp lying on the ground. He was poised to take another step when something out of a cartoon happened:

first, Matt instinctively stepped to the side;

second, a bucket of glue fell down right where he was previously standing, some of it splooshing onto the left half of him;

third, a fan turned on—

swearing commenced from the same direction—

finally, Matt felt the wind and an uncountable number of soft feathers fly into him.

He breathed in, and a feather pulled vaguely into his nose.

“Oh my fucking god, Derek!” one of the guys said—Matt thinks the guy was named Johnathan—and said _Derek_ started cussing.

Meanwhile, Matt was blowing the feather out of his nose, clenching his jaw, and going to his “zen” space.

Foggy started ascending the stairs at the same time Matt started to stalk forward, one hand wiping the glue and feathers from his face while the other controlled his cane.

“Sorry, dude, that was meant for Adam,” Johnathan said, and the words raised up at the end, showing his fear.

Eye twitching, Matt started, voice dark, “What kind of stupid, idiotic—”

But he was cut off by Foggy, who had ascended the stairs and said, “What was all that—oh my god?”

Matt turned around to show Foggy the damage. Foggy who would definitely be horrified and stick up for the clear victim here.

Foggy started laughing.

Because of course he did.

And the sound was church bells and bird chirps.

If Matt were a better man, he would have taken the high road in that moment. Foggy had offered him an out, an opportunity to find the humor in the situation. Because now that he’s looking back, he does see the objective hilarity in what happened.

Instead, he spun back around, snarling at his classmates and giving them a mouthful.

In all, it took a solid minute for his voice of reason—which sounded quite a bit like Foggy—to break through the heated talking-to he gave the pranksters.

“No crime slips past you,” Karen says. “Though I don’t see how the first part was related to this.”

Matt scoffs. “Does context mean nothing to you? What, you want me to throw the fact that I got glue-and-feathered at you with no warm-up?”

“Could improve the story-telling, to be honest.”

Matt rolls his eyes. “If you say so. Here’s one: one time we caught a microwave on fire and the entire building had to be evacuated. Happy?”

“What more is there to it?”

Matt hums. “A strong case has a solid backing to it.”

“Dude.” Karen laughs, and they come to a stop on the sidewalk beside the steps to her apartment building. “This isn’t a case. I think you’re thinking too hard about this.”

“What? So, I should take everything out of context when I ask him?”

He thinks she shrugs. “Well, you probably shouldn’t recap everything-everything. Listen: I think you’ve got it. Take your time. And call me if you want to talk more about it.”

It leaves much to want, and Matt can’t pretend he’s leaving this day having found his way through the twisting maze that is a proposal speech. “Thank you,” he says anyway because he knows that she tried. “I appreciate your help.”

She punches his shoulder lightly, and Matt graciously pretends she didn’t just hit a bruise.

He has plenty of time.

He’s got this.

One enters “The Pompelmo,” and the first things they’re greeted by are a cheerful hostess, the tinkering of a classy live piano in the corner, and a waft of air that brings with it smells of garlic, olive oil, and expensive wine.

This is what Matt experiences when Foggy holds the door open for him on New Year’s Eve, both of them decked out in their nicer suits.

It’s fancy here, fancier than either of them are used to, and it only raises the stakes.

“After you, monsieur,” Foggy says, even though they’re clearly at an Italian place.

“Grazie,” Matt responds, and he even thinks he pronounces it well, albeit he has no model for comparison.

They are brought to their table by the abovementioned hostess, and it ends up being smack-dab in the middle of the restaurant. Perfecto. More of an audience when Foggy inevitably turns him down.

Matt runs a hand through his hair and forces his face to smile. Foggy clearly put good planning and thought into this evening. Matt won’t ruin the moment with overthinking which—truth be told—contradicts the evidence available.

“You look nice,” Foggy says as he pulls out Matt’s chair, and Matt smiles over his shoulder as he sits then scoots in. He tracks Foggy as he moves to his own seat, saying:

“I’m sure you do as well.”

“I’m actually wearing full clown get-up,” Foggy says. He taps his feet on the floor, saying, “Got the shoes and everything.”

“Do you have the little flower with the squirt gun inside?”

Foggy shifts around, and suddenly a tiny spritz of water comes across the table, landing on Matt’s face.

Wiping the water off his face, Matt laughs. For a moment, he’s actually left wondering.

“Your own water is at your two-o’clock,” Foggy informs him, and Matt pieces it all together.

No clown outfit; just a glass of water and Foggy’s quick wit.

Their waiter comes by just moments later, introducing himself and handing them their menus. To Matt’s surprise, he receives a braille menu without prompting: another hint to how well-thought-out this evening is on Foggy’s part.

His smile is no longer faked as they discuss the wine listings, picking out something a little nicer than usual but still within reason. As they clink their glasses together, cheers-ing to a New Year and a happy anniversary, Matt feels his heart pound a little harder, a conflicting wave of nerves and pleasure running through him.

One hand moves to his pocket which holds the rings’ box, and his fingers dance over the soft velvet of it.

He pulls his hand back out.

They order their meals, and they discuss a recent Supreme Court Decision while they wait. Perhaps the prestige of law allows them to fit right in. To Matt, their informal talk juxtaposes against the class of the establishment in a way that’s perfectly them, all praise for the majority opinion and pointed jokes at the dissenting ones.

His hand moves back to the box while they laugh at something Foggy’s said. It comes back out a moment later when their food arrives.

Soon, they’re getting down to crunch-time, and Matt still has no idea what he’s doing. Is it romantic to get it over with now? Should he wait until dessert? What if Foggy’s not hungry for dessert? He could propose a walk through Central Park; that would be a beautiful place to propose. But it’s New Year’s Eve, and the park will be packed.

He stabs at a brussel sprout. Why did he order this? Will his breath taste gross when they inevitably share a kiss? Will he even make it that far?

Maybe this was all a terrible idea after all. He still doesn’t know what to say.

“Do you want dessert?” Matt finds himself asking once dinner is done. “I think I’d like some dessert.”

“Sure, that sounds good.”

Foggy’s voice is so unassuming, so full of nonchalance. His heart-rate has been steady, a contrast to Matt’s pacing one: he has no expectation for what will happen, for what’s about to happen.

They order their dessert, something to share.

Foggy pulls in a breath to speak, but Matt cuts him off:

“Foggy, I had something I wanted to talk to you about tonight,” he says.

“Shoot.”

“I… It’s about us. I’ve been thinking lately. About us, that is. And about you.”

“O…kay?”

He sounds suspicious. Matt’s fucking it up.

Quickly, he continues, “Right. There was something I wanted to say. Foggy.” He pulls in a breath. “You are funny, hot, and smart.”

A burst of fluttering laughter pops like a champagne bottle across the table.

Matt refrains from facepalming and instead continues, “I like you—”

“I like you, too.”

“—and some of the things I like about you include that you are thoughtful and loving and unafraid to say what you mean.”

“Yeah, until you disagree with me,” Foggy jokes, and Matt breathes a laugh.

“Even then,” he insists. He stands and quickly steps to the side of the table, kneeling beside Foggy and fumbling the ring box out of his pocket.

Foggy stops laughing suddenly.

“Foggy, you’ve always been there for me. Through everything. And, if you’ll let me, I’ll do everything I can to be there for you, too. Marry me?”

THREE: CONCLUSION

_Due to the foregoing, reasonable minds can come to but one conclusion which is favorable to the Plaintiff. Plaintiff is entitled to Summary Judgment as a matter of law, with judgment as follows:_

“Matt,” Foggy breathes, and that one syllable is all sugar and cinnamon. “Yes.”


End file.
